A CAPTURE
Three hours after the posses scattered on their search for The Coyote,
spurred by thoughts of the reward of a thousand dollars offered by San
Jacinto county, and Judson Brown's declaration that the reward would
be increased by the thousands more which Arizona had laid upon the
fugitive's head, Rathburn smiled at the rosy dawn in supreme
satisfaction.
He had not lost his man's trail during the early morning hours. Time
and again he had outwitted the man ahead when the latter had waited to
scan the back trail for signs of pursuit; more than once he had gained
ground when screened by timber growth close to the trail; every
stretch of dust-filled trail had been taken advantage of, while the
soft going underfoot had deadened the sound of his horse's flying
hoofs.
The bandit had traveled fast and he had kept steadily to the eastward.
This last was what caused Rathburn to smile with satisfaction. The man
for whose crime Rathburn was suspected was heading straight for
Rathburn's own stamping ground--the far-distant desert range, which he
knew from the low horizon in the south to the white-capped peaks in
the north. To catch up with him would be but a matter of a few hours,
Rathburn reflected contentedly.
Nor had the posse gained upon the two men ahead. Brown's men, perhaps,
did not have as excellent specimens of horseflesh as Rathburn and his
quarry rode. Nor did they possess the trail knowledge, the tricks
which Rathburn knew, and which the latter, more or less to his
surprise, found that the man ahead knew. Whatever it was that caused
that curling, sneering smile of contempt to play upon Rathburn's lips
at intervals, it was not scorn of the riding ability of the man he was
pursuing.
Moreover, both men ahead were saving their horses' strength against a
probable spurt by the posse at daylight. It would not be a hard matter
to follow their trail by the bright light of broad day. So far as he
could determine, Rathburn did not believe the man ahead knew he was
followed by a solitary rider who was between him and the hounds of the
law.
Under the circumstances, the bandit would expect to be pursued by a
number, Rathburn reasoned. He was ordering his pursuit on this theory,
and he did not intend to take any more time than was absolutely
necessary in catching up with the man ahead.
Rathburn's horse had not been hard ridden the day preceding, nor for
several days before that. He had journeyed westward by easy stages,
taking his time, favoring his mount in anticipation of some unforeseen
emergency which might require hard riding. And he well knew the
extraordinary powers of speed and endurance which the animal
possessed.
He frowned as he thought of the brand. He had not been under the
impression that the iron his horse wore was generally known to the
authorities. He would have to hole-up somewhere in the hills before
long and attend to that brand. As it was, it was a dead give-away as
to his identity. He could thank Brown for this bit of information,
anyway.
With the dawn, Rathburn found it easier to keep on his man's trail
without being seen himself. He gained considerable until he estimated
that he was not more than a mile and a half, or two miles at most,
behind.
The sun was up when he reached the crest of the high ridge where was
the tall pine and the sign which he had first seen the afternoon
before.
He hesitated, debating whether to let the printed notice remain with
his penciled inscription about the Arizona reward on it, or to tear it
down. Then he saw the man he was pursuing below on the trail. He moved
swiftly out of sight down the eastern side of the ridge. But when he
came to the next vantage point he discovered that his man had
apparently seen him; for he was riding at a mad gallop on the trail
which wound eastward along the edge of the hills.
"Now's as good a time as any, hoss!" he cried to his mount as he drove
in his spurs and dashed in swift pursuit.
Down the winding trail plunged horse and rider. The dun slipped and
slid on the hard surface of the steep declivities and finally emerged
upon the more open path which the man ahead was following.
Rathburn no longer made any attempt at concealment. He was after the
man ahead, and, somewhere behind, a posse was in mad pursuit. If he
were captured before he could overtake the bandit who was responsible
for the robbery, the latter would very likely escape--was certain to
make his get-away, in fact.
Rathburn called upon his horse by voice and spur for all the speed
there was in him. He could see the fugitive ahead urging his horse to
its utmost. The race was on in earnest. Thus they came to a long
stretch of open, level trail. Here Rathburn's horse began slowly to
gain.
The man ahead turned in his saddle, and Rathburn saw the glint of
sunlight on dull metal. He brought out his own gun. But the other did
not fire. He kept on, half-turned in the saddle, watching his pursuer
keenly. Rathburn continued to gain upon him.
They now were less than half a mile apart, and the fugitive suddenly
turned his horse due north, straight toward the hills, and sent a
volley of shots whistling in his pursuer's direction.
Rathburn held his fire. The bullets flew wide of their mark, and he
could see his man reloading as he rode. Rathburn now cut across,
racing for the point where he thought the other would reach the hills.
His horse rose to the emergency with a tremendous burst of speed. He
was close enough now to shoot with a reasonable certainty of scoring a
hit on his flying target. But he had no desire to kill, and he could
not be certain, at that distance, of merely wounding his quarry. He
also recoiled from the thought that he might accidently hit the
other's splendid horse.
Just ahead a thin line of straggling pines ranged down the gradual
slope from the first low ridge of the hills for which they were
heading. Rathburn swung north and gained the shelter of this screen
just as the other rider again began firing. The trees now were between
them, and each was an equal distance from the gentle slope of the
ridge.
Rathburn called upon his horse for a last, heartbreaking burst of
speed and the dun made good. At the beginning of the slope to the
ridge, Rathburn veered sharply to the right and burst through the
trees a scant rod or two from his man. His gun was leveled straight at
the other, who had been caught momentarily off his guard.
"Drop it!" shouted Rathburn, racing toward him.
The man's right hand fell to his side while he checked his horse with
his left. Rathburn rode in close to him and they came to a halt.
Rathburn's lips were curled in a smile of contempt. The other stared
at him, white-faced, his eyes wide and inquiring. The fingers of his
right hand relaxed, and the gun fell to the ground. Rathburn swung low
in the saddle and scooped it up, thrusting it into a pocket of his
coat.
"Now beat it up over that ridge ahead," Rathburn ordered. "And be
quick about it. That posse may be close behind us."
The other's eyes lit up with surprise. "You--you're not an officer?"
he stammered.
"Shut up, you fool!" cried Rathburn. "You want to stay here an' talk
when there's a score or two of men after us? I'm worse than an
officer. Slope for that ridge now. Hurry!"
The man put the steel to his horse, and they dashed up the slope,
crossed the ridge, and found themselves in a thick growth of timber
which covered a large area.
"Pick your way into the middle of that patch of timber," snapped out
Rathburn. "An' don't forget I'll be right close behind you. Get
going--don't gape!"
The captive's face flushed at the other's manner and the indubitable
note of contempt in his voice. But he obeyed the instructions and
pushed into the timber.
When they had proceeded some distance Rathburn called a halt. "Ever
been in this country before?" he demanded with a sneer.
"Yes." The other was more composed now. He studied his captor
curiously and seemed more at ease. Evidently he was heartened by the
fact that Rathburn had said he was not an officer and he believed
him.
"I suppose you're after what I'm carrying on me," he said with a touch
of bitterness. "I guess I'd have had as much chance as I've got now
if I'd started shootin' even after you got the drop on me!"
Rathburn laughed harshly. "You never had a chance from the start, if
you only knew it," he jeered. "Why, you upstart, you're not entitled
to any chance!"
The other man's face darkened in swift anger. "Brave talk," he said
sneeringly. "You've got me where you want me, so you can say
anything."
"I've got a pile to say," replied Rathburn shortly. "But this isn't
the time or place to say it. We want to be good an' away out of that
posse's path--an' quick."
"You might as well take what you're after an' then each of us can look
out for himself," was the hot retort.
Rathburn looked at the man quizzically. "You've got more spunk than I
thought," he mused.
He stared at the other man closely. The bandit could not have been
more than twenty-five or twenty-six. He was tall, well-built, blond.
His hair and eyes were about the color of Rathburn's. But Rathburn
particularly noted the man's face, and whatever it was he saw there
caused him to shrug and frown deeply.
"What's your name?" he demanded coldly.
"Percy," sneeringly replied the other.
"That's good enough for me," said Rathburn cheerfully. "All I need is
a name to call you by. Now, Percy, if you're acquainted with this
country in here an' can steer the way to where the posse'll be liable
to overlook us you better be leading on. I see you've ditched your
other gun somewhere--you had two."
"So you want me to take you where you'll be safe so you can rob me,
maybe shoot me down, an' then make your get-away," the other
accused.
Rathburn looked him straight in the eyes. "If you think I'm the kind
of a man who'd shoot another down in cold blood when he was helpless
you don't know much about human beings," he said slowly. "I have no
intention of murdering you or harming you a-tall, if you're halfway
careful. If you feel that it's against your principles to lead this
expedition to temporary safety, we can turn back toward Dry Lake.
We're going to do one thing or the other within one minute!"
"Oh, come on," muttered the captive. He led the way through the timber
to its western edge, then turned north in the shelter of the trees
traversing a long, high, rocky ridge.
"Our horses won't leave any tracks here," he called back. "Or maybe
you don't care whether we leave any tracks or not," he added
sarcastically.
Rathburn spurred his horse alongside of him. "It doesn't make a bit of
difference to me," he said. "You're the one that's got to be scared of
that posse, Percy, not me. If it wasn't for one thing I'd take you
right down there to meet 'em!"
The other looked at him both in anger and perplexity. "Suppose you'd
object to tellin' what that one thing is," he said savagely.
"Well, it may be that I feel sorry for you," said Rathburn as if to
himself. "An' it may be that I want credit for bringing you in without
the help of any posse an' without them knowing it!"